Grey
by Elske
Summary: How in the world do I describe this? A view into Oliver's family situations, on falling in love - now presented from many different angles. Includes slashyness. Five chapters now, written while ffn.net was on holiday, uploaded all at once.
1. Grey - Oliver

Title: "Grey"  
Author: Elske  
Pairing: Unrequited Oliver/Percy, Percy/Cedric  
Rating: PG  
Improv #6  
Spoilers: Goblet of Fire  
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. I am (quite obviously) not JKR, to which all of Harry Potter legally belongs.  
Notes: Where do I begin? A combination of vicious plot-bunnies from about Oliver's family situation, the song "No one Knows who I am" from the musical Jekyll and Hyde, the film "The Winter Guest" (for young Sean Biggerstaff-ness) and, of course, the improv clues. There are some things I never do...write in first-person, start one fic without finishing the one I was working on first, picture Movie!Oliver. I've done them all here. Anyway...enjoy. :)  
  
"Grey"  
When she was sixteen years old, my mum fell in love. She really shouldn't have, but she did. She was rather invisible - she played for the house Quidditch team for Hufflepuff, but no-one ever noticed her out of the canary-yellow robes. But he noticed her. He noticed her and because of that, my mother fell in love. He was unremarkable himself, or so my mother says. He was tall and very enthusiastic and he had grey eyes that mum wishes I inherited, although now I'm glad that I didn't. After she graduated from Hogwarts, they spent the summer together. And then they parted company. No one ever told me why.  
  
She didn't want to tell him about me. He was already married to someone else by the time I was born. But she loved him and so she sent him a letter and she told him all about me. He visited when I was little, at least that's what she tells me, but I don't remember it at all. I do remember the owls that arrived on my birthdays for a while, the cards he sent me. He sent me cards but he never sent her anything. I didn't know him, but she loved him. She loved him but he never wrote her.  
  
The cards had stopped coming by the time I was eleven. I was accepted to Hogwarts the summer before my eleventh birthday, and mum and I went to London, for shopping. They had wizard-things to buy in Hogsmeade, where we lived, and I didn't understand why we had to go on the trip. But it had to be Diagon Alley, mum insisted, and so we went. I still wish we hadn't gone. Because we ran into him there, right in the ice cream parlour in the wizarding part of London. I'd never seen mum like that before. Her eyes lit up when she saw him; she crossed the room in almost a run, forgetting about me. She looked at him and she was so suddenly happy, it almost hurt to look at her. He just looked embarrassed.  
  
"Sofia." He said. "It's been a long time."  
  
"Yes. It has." She beamed at him, not noticing how he kept shifting from foot to foot, casting nervous glances out to the street. I had never seen her so happy. It was beautiful. And I knew then who the man had to be.  
  
Something made mum remember me, and she returned to where she had left me. She took me by the hand, bringing me to the man. "Amos..." she said. "Amos, this is your...this is Oliver."  
  
He looked even more embarrassed than ever. "Hello Oliver."  
  
"Hello Sir." I said gravely and shook his extended hand.   
  
Mum started to say something, but she was interrupted by someone. Two someones - a tall, pretty woman and a boy who had inherited his father's grey eyes.   
  
"Sybil!" The man said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Sybil, you remember Sofia Wood."   
  
A dark look crossed her face. "Yes, of course. Hello, Sofia." She reached out and put her hand on her husband's arm for a moment. "Amos...Amos, we need to go. It's getting late."  
  
"Yes. It was nice running into you, Sofia." He said, obviously lying. And he took the boy's hand in one of his and his wife's hand in the other, and all three walked away.  
  
"Come along, Oliver." My mum said in a tired voice, and she led me out of the ice cream parlour. She didn't seem sad, mum. In fact, she was still smiling. It was years before I understood how it was possible for her to not have been sad at that moment, watching him leave with his family.  
  
When I was sixteen years old, I fell in love. I really shouldn't have, but I did. I played Quidditch on the Gryffindor team, and even though people recognised me out of the crimson robes, they always acted as though I was still wearing them. I liked Quidditch. People listened when I talked about Quidditch, of course, I wasn't invisible talking about Quidditch. But he was different, he noticed me. He noticed me, and because of that, I fell in love. He was rather unremarkable himself, just one in a series of red-haired brothers and sister. He was tall and often too serious and absolutely wonderful. I was in love with him.  
  
I never told him. Instead, he told me a truth of his own...that he had fallen in love. Percy had fallen in love with Amos Diggory's son. With the tall handsome son who had inherited his father's grey eyes. Percy confessed everything, told me his secrets, told me the only things he'd ever kept from me. Even that he thought he was going crazy, that he knew he was obsessed when I started reminding him of Cedric...when he decided we had the same nose and chin and eyebrows, even. And that that was the moment he decided he had to tell someone, anyone.  
  
I left his side right after that admission and crossed our dormitory room, opened a window and leaned out into the fresh night air, hoping it would clear my mind. He was the only one who ever noticed the almost non-existent family resemblance.  
  
The strangest part was...I wasn't sad. I remember laying in bed and wondering why, and remembering mum in the ice cream parlour and how she wasn't sad either. Because she still loved Amos, despite everything. And I still loved Percy.  
  
He didn't tell anyone else about Cedric, about their relationship. I avoided Cedric as I always did, afraid like always that he would remember that day we first met in Diagon Alley, that he would remember the dark look of his mother's face and the rapture of mine.   
  
According to Percy, they were very happy. He told me because he had to tell someone, he told me because I was his best friend, he told me because he had no idea that I loved him.  
  
At the end of the year, we graduated from Hogwarts. I turned eighteen. Like my mother, I was offered a job to play Quidditch for Puddlemere United; unlike my mother I got the chance to accept the job. I kept in touch with Percy and saw the events of the Triwizard Tournament through his eyes in a flurry of letters. The owls always arrived early in the morning carrying the long letters that Percy sat up all night writing, his love and concern for Cedric showing in every carefully-scripted word.  
  
This morning, an owl came. The letter was not from Percy. It was from my mother, and it was only three sentences long. Dear Oliver, I received some disturbing news this morning. Cedric Diggory has been killed. I thought you should know, love Mum. 


	2. Comfort - Cho

Title: "Comfort"  
Author: Elske  
Pairing: post Percy/Cedric   
Rating: PG-13 [character death, (canon)]  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the world of Harry Potter belong to all sorts of people (notably JKRowling), not me. This is for fun, not profit, etcetera. You know how it goes.  
Spoilers: GoF  
Notes: This is the second chapter of "Grey". There is a CHANGE POV from the last chapter. :) Enjoy!  
  
"comfort"  
by Elske  
  
There's nothing more annoying than waking up in the morning to the noises of someone trying desperately not to wake you up. He takes little hesitant steps, trying to walk quietly, trying to get on with his routines, as if this is all normal. As if there isn't someone else sleeping in his bed, as if he's not ashamed of having been the first to awake. As if nothing is different. But of course, you're there, and so everything is different, because you waking up in his bed is certainly not normal. If it was, he certainly wouldn't be trying not to wake you up, would he? He would still be in bed...at least, I would hope he would still be in bed, although I really wouldn't know, come to think of it.  
I had those thoughts running through the back of my head as I lay there, in his bed, trying not to think of all the other thoughts that should, by rights, be much more important than my being annoyed with the little noises he was making that morning. He had every right to do whatever he wished - it was his right, after all, his bed, his flat, his morning routines. It was selfish of me to have been annoyed. He never asked me to stay, had never given me permission to interrupt his routines. Or maybe he had. I didn't really remember. I tried not to remember anything; as if I had been born just that very morning, come into the world annoyed and confused and sick and half-asleep, born at seventeen years old.  
I opened my eyes a slit and tried to sit up, although it was a difficult task. My head was spinning; I was wrapped tightly in a million blankets. "Bugger..." I managed to croak, straining against the dryness in the back of my throat, feeling almost nauseated.  
He jumped at that, turned around in a whirl, quickly crossing his one-room flat to my side. "Good morning." He said, almost cheerfully. "I'm sorry, I didn't wake you, did I?"  
"No." I lied, yawning and closing my eyes. I felt horrible, no longer human, as if someone played an entire game of Quidditch using my body as the Quaffle. My head pounded, my stomach whirled, and I desperately needed to find the bathroom. "I wasn't...drinking last night, was I?" I asked, irrationally, although I already knew the answer. I'd never had a hangover, never been drunk - but from some of the accounts of my classmates and teammates, this was exactly what it would feel like.  
He smiled a sad heart-breaking smile. "No, love. Just...crying." His voice faltered there, his blue eyes filling with tears, as he sat on the bed next to me, pulled me into his arms, lifted my hair out of the way and settled one of his arms around my thin shoulders. He held me tightly to him, comforting me, comforting himself.   
And there it was, in a flash, I was remembering, being forced to remember.   
The funeral was yesterday morning.  
It started raining, unexpectedly...one of those summer storms, that happens suddenly, fiercely, beautifully...and then fades away, as suddenly as it began. Cedric's life was like that, like one of those summer storms, that's what I was thinking when I walked out from under the canopy they set up to protect us from the storm. The heels of my shoes sunk into the mud as I walked. They were fancy shoes, high-heeled shoes that I borrowed from Sybil Diggory, because I didn't have any dress shoes of my own. And I was ruining them, caking them in mud and strings of grass, but somehow, I didn't think that Sybil would have minded much. I doubt she even noticed. The ends of my best black dress robes had trailed in the mud as I walked to the edge of the hole that was dug into the ground. And suddenly, it had become impossible to ignore the reality of it anymore. Cedric was dead. Cedric Diggory was dead.   
I was crying then, crying slowly...and then I noticed him, approaching me. He was crying too, of course. I turned to look at him, and our eyes met, and it was almost as though we started reading each other's thoughts. It was a sort of unspoken agreement that flashed between us in that instant, that we each realised that the other was the only person in the world who was feeling exactly the same as us, who could ever understand the depths of pain and of grief. He opened his arms and I stepped into them, still crying softly. We spent the rest of the funeral like that, standing out in the rain, in each other's arms, crying, taking comfort from the other. There were a hundred pairs of eyes on us, confused. It must have been a strange sight, of course - Cho Chang and Percy Weasley, an odd pair, holding each other and sobbing in the rain.  
I couldn't remember leaving the funeral, and I couldn't remember arriving at Percy's flat. I could remember curling up in a little ball in bed and listening to the sound of the rain on the roof. I fell asleep to the calming sound of Percy's voice as he talked about Cedric, immortalized his lover in remembrances.  
We both loved Cedric.  
And now he was gone.  
Percy sighed and, almost reluctantly, let go, stood up. "I was just...fixing breakfast. Would you like some...tea, or something?" His voice was cautious, measured; the whirlwind of crazy emotions he had just been feeling carefully hidden in a façade of calmness, as they always were.  
"Coffee, please." I said softly. "If you've got it."  
"I haven't." He replied, sheepishly, looking at me over his shoulder.  
"Tea, then."   
"Of course."  
I sighed, and began trying to untangle the blankets, so I could get up, find the bathroom, eat breakfast, somehow manage to get on with my life. 


	3. Pieces - Sofia Wood

Author's Notes: Firstly the disclaimer - I am not JK Rowling or any of the various corporations to which Harry Potter legally belongs. This is for fun, not for profit, etcetera. This is the third chapter of "Grey", entitled 'Pieces'. There is a CHANGE in POV from the previous chapter. :) Enjoy! ~Elske  
  
"Pieces"  
  
It was just before dinnertime when the owl arrived. It came in through the window and winged a silent circle around the kitchen before dropping the letter on the table and leaving through the same window.  
Curious, I crossed the room and picked up the letter. It was immediately obvious to me who it was from - although it had been years and years since such letters arrived here. Written across the front was the name "Oliver Wood", in a familiar hesitant handwriting. Amos' handwriting.  
I took the letter to the stove and held it over the steaming tea-kettle for just long enough to melt the sealing wax, just a little, then rummaged through one of the drawers until I found a sharp knife. I slid it under the seal and pried it up...carefully, very carefully, so I wouldn't disturb the pattern of letters spelling out the name "Diggory" in the wax impression. If you did it carefully enough, you could read the letter and reseal it afterwards, and no-one would know that you read it. It was what I'd done to all of the letters that Amos sent Oliver. I'd gone against my nature, been dishonest...because of Amos. Because he never sent anything to me, I was forced to be so. Or so I thought when I was being reasonable - or unreasonable - when I decided to hate Amos, when I decided that I resented the hold that he had over my life. Other times...well, other times I could only blame myself, hate myself. Such, I suppose, is life.  
The letter was short, almost embarrassed in tone, thanking Oliver for attending the funeral. He even went so far as to apologize for the years Oliver was paid little or no attention by him, asked if it were possible that a reconciliation would occur. It was signed, simply, Amos.  
I frowned as I refolded the letter, returned it to the envelope, used the flat edge of the knife to push the still sticky wax seal back into place. Of course. Oliver was the only child Amos had left - no wonder he wanted to reconcile. But that was nothing to do with me, was it? Or maybe it was everything to do with me. I wasn't quite sure. I'm never quite sure.  
Pouring myself out a cup of tea, I returned to the table, lightly placing the letter in the middle of it. Amos Diggory - not a day went by when I didn't think of Amos Diggory. Some days I loved him and other days I hated him, but he was always there in my thoughts. It had been years since we last spoke - back in the year Oliver first started at Hogwarts, in fact. He ignored me at the funeral, pretended to take no notice of either Oliver or myself. Of course, his letter proved that to be false. In that instant I hated him for ignoring me, in the next, I loved him for having noticed me. Such was love, such was life.   
There was a song, a muggle song, that I once heard. I don't know who performed it, although I think it might have been Frank Sinatra. A line of it went "I wanna be around to pick up the pieces, when somebody breaks your heart." That was the problem with Amos Diggory. I cried rivers alone in my home, rocking my baby to sleep, knowing that somewhere Amos was living happily ever after with his new wife, his new love. I'd never seen him cry...never, that is, until Cedric's funeral.  
My wandering thoughts were interrupted by my son's call of "Hi honey, I'm home!" as he walked through our front door.   
I smiled at that. Usually that was my line, regardless of if anyone was home or not. The house was so empty when Oliver was away, which was often. During the Quidditch season, he was away with his team. My son played for Puddlemere United; was the reserve Keeper, to be specific. It still gave me a thrill every time I saw him in his Puddlemere United uniform. I was once offered the chance to play with Puddlemere United. Of course, I never had the opportunity to accept the job. They rather frown on pregnant women on professional Quidditch teams. It gave me some sort of satisfaction to see my son play for that team - things had come full-circle. He had taken the rest of the season off in order to attend the funeral, in order to spend time with me. And, I knew, to be with...with Percy. Who, admittedly, probably needed him more than either of them would ever know.  
"Hello, dear," I said to Oliver as he appeared in the kitchen doorway. "How was business today?"  
"Usual." He said with a smile, pouring himself some tea. He spent that afternoon running our Quidditch supply store in Hogsmeade, giving me some time off. Oliver added cream and sugar to his tea and sat down in the other chair, across the table from me. "And your afternoon?"  
"Peaceful. Lovely," I returned, and then added with false casualness "You got a letter." I slid it across the table towards him.  
"Really? Probably from the coach," he said, taking the letter. He frowned at the address, then flipped the envelope over and frowned deeper as he read the seal. With a sigh, he took out his wand and whispered a spell, igniting the letter in blue flames. It burned down to ash in the middle of the table, leaving scorch marks in the varnish, which Oliver quietly removed with another spell.  
"What was that for?" I asked, slightly surprised at the force of his reaction.   
Oliver snorted, shaking his head. "And what would I want with that? What would I want with him? He's ruined our lives, both of our lives. Ruined both of our lives." He echoed, softly.  
I smiled slowly. "But if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't be here." I reminded him gently. It was a very old argument, and one that I'd always won.  
"And neither would have Cedric." Oliver replied. "And if he was never here, he never would have died and Percy..."  
Ah, yes. And Percy. That's what this all came down to. I smiled, spontaneously leaned across the table, took one of my son's hands in both of mine. "How is Percy?"  
He flinched. "He still won't see anyone. Anyone except...her." Oliver's voice dripped with jealousy. It was jealousy that he had been showing ever since the funeral, when together we witnessed Percy's breakdown in the arms of Cedric's best friend.   
"You should try talking to him again." I suggested, in that helpful way that all mothers have.  
"I try and try and..." He shook his head. "I don't know what to say."  
"Tell him how you feel."  
"You act as though that's easy!" Oliver said, turning to me with a pained look in his eyes.  
I laughed softly. "I'm your mother. I think that's my job." Oliver joined in my laughter, and we stayed that way, light-hearted, for a long moment. And then I added "Oliver, you do need to tell him."  
"I know." He sighed. "How do I do that...if he won't see me? He won't see anyone. Except..." His expression darkened.   
"Send him an owl." I suggested, neatly interrupting before he started getting depressed. "Tell him you miss him, that you need to talk to him, that it's important."  
He smiled slowly. "Maybe you're right."  
"Maybe." I agreed. "Go on...write him something."  
"I left Napoleon up with the coach," he said, and I laughed.   
"I'll let you use Metternich." I countered, still laughing. "Go on with you!"  
"Yes, Mum." Oliver replied, pouting, and ran up the stairs. I smiled to myself, listening to the fading sound of his loud footsteps.  
The promise...it would work out for Oliver. He would be around, be able to pick up the pieces for Percy. And then I realised that I had always been wrong, really. Amos eventually did have his heart broken, and I was hardly applauding from a front-row-seat. It didn't make things any easier, but love was never easy. And I loved Amos, and I hated him for it, and I loved him, and... 


	4. Irresistible - Ron

Author's note: Firstly the disclaimer - I am neither JK Rowling nor any of the various corporations to which Harry Potter legally belongs. This is for fun, not for profit, etcetera. This is the fourth chapter of "Grey", entitled 'Irresistible'. There is a CHANGE IN POV from the previous chapter. Enjoy! ~Elske  
  
"Irresistible"  
  
After Cedric's funeral, all Harry could talk about was Cho. Cho and Percy. He brught up the scene a thousand times, analysing it, wondering what it meant. If I were him, I would have been concentrating on more important things - like that epic battle between good and evil that we'd all found ourselves caught up in. But no, all he talked about was Cho and Percy, Cho and Percy, Cho and Percy. Maybe...maybe that was easier for him.  
I finally interrupted him before he could ask me for the thirty-seventh time where I thought Percy had spent the night of Cedric's funeral - I had made the foolish mistake of admitting that he hadn't come home to the Burrow that night. I didn't want to tell Harry because it seemed unfair to Percy. For all the differences between us, he was still my brother, and I felt I owed him something. But I couldn't stand to have that conversation even one more time, so I took a deep breath and said "Um, Harry? You don't have to worry about Percy. He's, well...he doesn't like girls. That is, he...he's...you know." Not very delicate, but it got the point across.   
Harry looked at me, shocked. He went very pale and then pink and then he asked "Really?"  
"Mmm-hmm." I replied, knowing that I was blushing too. I was hoping that he wasn't going to ask me how I knew that. It certainly wasn't because Percy wanted me to know - Percy never told me anything. And I really, really didn't want to re-live that experience. It was one of the most embarrassing ones in my life, even worse than when I walked in on Fred and his girlfriend...because Fred's girlfriend was, well, a girl. Unlike Cedric.  
Luckily, Harry just stayed quiet for a moment, and then he started talking about Cho again, wondering if she still loved Cedric and wondering if she could ever live him.  
It all seemed a waste of time to me. For one thing, the relationship Cho and Cedric had was a far different one than Harry hoped to have with Cho - so it seemed a foolish waste of time for him to keep comparing the two. And really, all Harry had to do was tell Cho that he liked her. She'd love him back. She had to. How could she not? If Harry Potter ever loved you, could you refuse him? Could anyone?  
But I just let him keep talking. I was his best friend, after all. He left the next day, went back home to the Dursleys. A few days later, Percy started coming out of his room and having meals with the rest of the family, which is something that he hadn't done since he found out that Cedric was killed. He talked and smiled some at the antics staged by the twins to try and cheer him up. I don't know if they knew just why Percy was so devastated. I don't know who knew about Percy and Cedric. Me, and mum, of course. And Ginny, she had to have known. She has a talent for seeing things that other people miss. Oliver Wood must have known too, for some reason, because he kept sending Percy notes right after the funeral. Percy asked mum to write back to everyone with his regrets because he was in no shape to face the rest of the world, and she did so. It was one of the few things any of us could do to help him.  
I overheard Percy asking mum if he could have Cho over for dinner. They talked about her - she was having a hard time of it, even worse than Percy, I think. Percy had the rest of us to lean on and hide behind, but Cho didn't have anything at all. Her mother had been in St. Mungo's since the summer before, when the Death Eaters showed the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup. And her stepfather and the two little kids moved out there, to be with her, and so Cho had been living with the Diggory family, because their families had been friends, and everything. Percy said that everything there reminded her of the sadness, and so she needed to get out of the house more, because Percy wanted to help her not be so sad anymore.  
I half-wanted to run upstairs and write to Harry and tell him what I had learned. Neither of us had known any of that about Cho. It's funny...he doesn't know anything about her, and yet he says he's in love with her. I don't quite understand how that's possible. I didn't write the letter after all. It was, I reasoned, none of my business - no matter how hard Harry tried to make it so.  
And Cho did come for dinner, a few nights. She was very quiet and polite and didn't say much at all the first time she came. But later, she was able to be coaxed into quiet conversations. She even smiled at me. I felt guilty afterwards.  
Again, I felt like writing to Harry : 'Dear Harry, Cho came to our house and she smiled at me. I'm sorry, Ron'. But, of course, I didn't. What good would it have done? None, at all.  
Yesterday, Cho smiled at all of us. George started flirting with her, and she delicately flirted back. I think that made Percy happy, although it's really hard to tell with Percy. I didn't tell Harry about that either, which had me feeling even more guilty. But again,t hat was something else that was really none of my business.  
This morning, an owl came and dropped a huge letter on my breakfast plate. I expected it to be from Harry, wondering if I had any new insights on Cho and offering a dozen of his own. Or, worse yet, from Hermione, wondering how Harry was and talking about how much she worried about him. She was sending lots of those, of late. But it wasn't from either Harry or Hermione - it was from Oliver wood. I sat there wondering why Oliver would be writing to me. And then I noticed that it wasn't addressed to me after all, it was for Percy. Stupid owl.  
So I had to go upstairs and take Percy his mail. It felt funny - I hadn't really talked to him since before Cedric died. Since I found out about him and Cedric. Well, if you wanted to get technical, I hadn't really talked to him in about nine years. We didn't get along, we weren't friends, just brothers. I didn't want to go up there, but I had to give him his letter.  
He opened the door right away after I knocked, looked out at me and said "Hello, Ron." He looked tired. But he hadn't been crying, I could tell that right away, and I was glad - I hate it when people cry. I never know what to do or what to say and I end up feeling more foolish than I normally do.   
Anyway, I smiled back at Percy and held out the envelope. "You got a letter," I said, "from Oliver Wood."  
"Oliver Wood?" He echoed, and his whole face lit up. I smiled too; I couldn't help it. It was rare to see Percy happy, but when he was, it was contagious.   
I didn't mean to prolong the encounter, but I found myself saying, "How are you, Percy?"  
He seemed surprised by the question. "Getting better." He said, and he tightened his grip on the letter. "Getting better every day." And then he turned away and went back into his room and closed the door behind him.  
I got back downstairs just in time to hear George shouting to mum that he's going out to Hogsmeade to play Quidditch in the park with Cho.  
I can't take the guilt anymore. As soon as I finish my breakfast, I'm going to write to Harry. 


	5. Mirrored - Penelope

Author's notes: Firstly, the disclaimer. I am neither JK Rowling nor any of the various corporations to which Harry Potter legally belongs. This is for fun, not for profit, etcetera. This is the fifth chapter of "Grey", entitled 'Mirrored'. There is a CHANGE in POV from the previous chapter. Enjoy! ~Elske  
"Mirrored"  
  
Graduating from Hogwarts was anti-climactic, because it meant that I had to go back home to my family, back home to the world of the muggles, back home to the argument my family and I had been having for the past three years. It was an argument that I had no hope of winning. All the Witherspoon children had been going t o the same university since the beginning of time, and Witch or not, I was still my mother's daughter and so I would be going too.  
I begged and I cajoled and I pleaded, but mother would have nothing of it. I even went to visit Gram Clearwater to try and enlist her help. She was a Witch too, so of all people, she would understand. And she did understand, but even she couldn't change mother's mind. But the three of us eventually reached ac compromise -that I would do as mother wished and go to the university and live with the muggles for the next four years. And after that, if I still had my so-called silly attachments to my life as a Witch, I could go back to it, if I so chose.   
It wasn't a perfect solution, by any means, but I could live with it. I was actually looking forward to going to university; there was so much more out there in the world for me to learn - history and literature and art. If only it wasn't necessary for me to pretend to be a muggle in order to do it. Why were there no Wizard Universities? Not that it would have done me a bit of good if they had existed - mum would never have let me go, and it would only have served to make me even more miserable than I already was. It would be for only four years, after all.  
Only four years. I had already made that decision; I had no intention of changing my mind, as mother so hoped. I knew the real reason she was so insistent on my going. It wasn't to learn, nor for me to get a degree - it was so I would find a man, a perfectly proper muggle man, the type that would hear me mention Voldemort and look at me for a moment, confused, and then start musing about how the French used the same word for 'to steal' and 'to fly'. Knowing me, he would probably be tall and thin and well-dressed, with very small wire-rimmed glasses. He would have a soft, pale speaking voice and be very smart and worship every little thing about me - because he'd be afraid not to. Mother hoped that I would meet this perfect man and promptly marry him and settle down and stay at home and save the world through luncheons staged to benefit perfectly proper charities. I would, of course, forget all about the nebulous and uncertain Wizarding world.   
Once, that might have made me happy. But...oh, I could be so more useful! I wanted to make a difference. After all, I had these magic powers for a reason, did I not? As a muggle, I would be wasting myself. And I might have to waste four years, but I would not waste the rest of my life, I knew that for certain.   
In order to prepare myself for having to live as a muggle, I took a job as a muggle - I went to work at a muggle department store. It was a rather declassé job, but the store was owned by some cousin or another of mine, and so mother considered it proper enough.   
I worked at one of the cosmetic counters. I picked that department because of the uniform - we wore flowing white smocks that reminded me of Wizard robes. Mine had "Penelope" embroidered across one of the wide collar lapels and an inside pocket that would have been the perfect place to keep my wand. Of course, I didn't take my wand with me to work; it would have been too tempting to break the promise I had made to live magic-free.   
It was an easy job. I didn't do much - told customers about the products that were on special and occasionally sprayed them with perfumes and rang up all the purchases. Sometimes I got to help customers into one of the tall chairs and watch the other woman who worked on our counter give them makeovers. But it was mostly mindless work. Every other week I got a paycheck, which I sent to my Gram Clearwater. She changed the money into Galleons and deposited it into my Gringotts account. I would need the money far more in the future than I did now, after all.  
During my lunch-hours, I would sit alone in the back of the staff-room, reading through some of my old Hogwarts school-books. I hid them in covers of muggle best-sellers and had some bewitched to look like muggle texts. I had to keep up with my Wizard studies - if not, I knew, I would forget everything just like the French and German I was nearly fluent in before I went to Hogwarts. My co-workers always smiled at me and told each other that I must be working my way through University and talked about what a dedicated student I must have been.  
Nothing interesting ever happened - life with muggles was so dull. That is, until the day when I saw someone very familiar leaving the optometry department. I wondered for a minute what he would possibly be doing in a muggle department store, of all places. Curiosity got the better of me, and I called out to him, "Oliver Wood!"   
He heard the sound of his name and turned around, looking stunned - probably because he was having a hard time figuring out who would know him in a place like this. Oliver crossed the floor and came over to my cosmetics counter, leaned against it, and looked up at me. "Penelope?" He asked, still looking stunned.   
I nodded slowly. "Oliver? What are you doing here?" I asked him. Usually I was much more tactful, but at that moment, I was far too curious to be polite.  
"Shopping." He replied glibly, and then looked around to see if anyone was listening to us. No one seemed to be, so he leaned in a little closer. "I can't believe my luck, running into you here. You're exactly the person who can help me. Can I ask a favour?"  
I flinched, bit my lip, and asked "What sort of favour?" I was nervous; I wasn't supposed to be having anything to do with anyone from the Wizard world, and Oliver Wood was certainly the sort I was supposed to be avoiding.  
"It's rather complicated." He frowned for a moment, and then met my eyes, seeming more serious than I'd ever seen him before. "It's about Percy. I'm going to help Percy, at least I mean to, but..."  
Percy. He had to bring Percy into this, didn't he? I had promised not to have anything to do with the magic world all summer, after all, and it was a promise I had intended to keep. But Percy...I could not deny Percy Weasley anything. He was my friend - had been my first boyfriend, and I still loved him. He was my weakness, and judging by the sound of Oliver's voice when he said Percy's name, he might have been Oliver's weakness too. "What do you need me to do?" I asked finally, knowing there was nothing else I ever could have done.  
Oliver smiled at me and began filling me in on what had passed since I had last seen Percy, at my Hogwarts graduation. I hadn't been permitted to attend Cedric Diggory's funeral, and from what Oliver told me, I was glad. I don't think I could have seen Percy like Oliver said he had been at the funeral, broken and sad and grieving. And I probably would have thrown Cho Chang in the mud and demanded that Percy cry in my arms instead. Or at least wanted to.  
He told me this and that he'd been trying to see Percy ever since, and for a time Percy was refusing to see anyone at all, but he'd finally agreed to see Oliver. He didn't need to tell me how he felt about Percy, why he was so concerned about him. I still love Percy myself, and can easily recognise the symptoms.  
Oliver told me that he was nervous about his meeting with Percy, asked me if I would help him get ready for it. I didn't quite understand why he needed my help, but I was glad to give it to him.  
For the next few days, I spent my lunch hours with Oliver. The other woman who worked at my cosmetics counter smiled at me and called Oliver a dear boy; I'm sure she and the others enjoyed adding a romantic chapter to the history of my life they were busy concocting out of gossip. I found Oliver a suitably "preppy" outfit like he wished one day, spent another wetting his hair and parting it in the middle and trimming the messy edges with a pair of nail scissors, giving him the style he requested. I didn't understand what he was having me do until later, the day he emerged from the dressing room with his hair fixed as I'd taught him, in the outfit I'd chosen for him, and wearing what he'd bought in the optometry department - a pair of grey contact lenses.  
The effect was unbelievable. He was a shorter, blurred Cedric Diggory. It was as thought Cedric was standing there, real but not-real, like the handsome horrible wonderful man I started dreaming about when I was petrified. And then I understood what it was that Oliver meant to do, and I knew that I could not let him do it.  
"Well?" He innocently asked. "What do you think?"  
I didn't say anything...I couldn't say anything there, in the middle of the store. So I took his hand and dragged him into the dressing-room and locked the door behind us.  
"Oliver," I said, sitting down next to him on the tiny dressing-room bench. "Oliver, I can't...I can't let you do this."  
"Do what?" He said, looking at me.  
"Try and become Cedric." As soon as I said that, Oliver gasped and turned away from me, looking at his own reflection. He looked as though he was about to cry for a moment. I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. "I don't think that would help Percy at all."  
"I didn't realise..." He shook his head and stood up, staring at his reflection, reaching out and pressing his hand against the glass. "Becoming Cedric. Of course." He smiled weakly at me for a moment, and then turned back to stare at himself.   
"Don't worry so, Oliver." I told him gently. "I know he loves you." And I did...I always suspected that I'd lose Percy, and it was to Oliver who I assumed I would lose him.   
Oliver smiled down at me and said some sort of thanks softly, under his breath. He kept staring at his reflection for another long moment, and then turned away. "Can you fix this?" He asked me.  
"Of course," I replied.   
He changed his clothes and gave me back the outfit I'd chosen him. I got out my nail-scissors again and un-neatened his hairstyle, ruffled the edges and messed it up. When we were done, he looked like Oliver again, almost. He thanked me for everything, and then left, still wearing the grey contact lenses.  
I don't know what happened after that. No-one told me anything, but I like to think it turned out well. I'm still here, working, every day. Sometimes my co-worker catches me staring out to the optometry department and she laughs at me and asks how my boyfriend's doing, because she hasn't seen him in a while. I always smile and tell her he's just fine, because it's easier than explaining things. It's funny...my lunch hours are so boring, anymore. 


End file.
